


The Right Touch

by sahiya



Series: The Importance of Being Human in Cardiff [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-24
Updated: 2011-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor gets the flu. Jack frets. Ianto makes the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Fuzzyboo for encouragement and help with my Ianto voice and to Kivrin for a) solving my structural issues, and b) doing an awesome and fast beta job.

Ianto was the first to notice something was off with the Doctor.

Jack hoped this was because Ianto noticed and cataloged everything, and not because he himself had been oblivious. True, the Rift had been more active than usual lately, and he'd only spent about three hours in bed the night before - all prior to 3AM, when the Rift alarm had gone off. It was just a weevil, nothing he couldn't handle on his own, and he'd told Ianto and the Doctor to stay where they were. But that meant he was already in his office at seven-thirty the next morning when Ianto made the relevant observations.

"He had trouble waking up this morning," Ianto told Jack, frowning. Jack sipped the cup of coffee he'd brought him - the first cup of the day, _oh sweet nectar of life_ \- and raised his eyebrows. "You know him, he always bounds out of bed the minute the alarm goes off - bloody annoying, you'd think he'd never even heard of a snooze button -"

"Doubt he'd see the point," Jack said with a smile.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "He doesn't. I asked him once. He said recreational sleeping was too human even for him. But this morning he just rolled over and told me I could have the shower first. He was up and moving by the time I came upstairs, but sort of at half-speed."

"Hmm." Jack rolled his chair back so he could look down into the Hub proper. The Rift predictor had said today would be quiet; in the spirit of optimism, Jack had given Gwen the day off, and so the Doctor was alone on the floor. He was at his desk - Tosh's old station, though Jack had managed to stop thinking of it that way, most days. But he looked a little . . . unfocused. Not to mention unusually frayed around the edges. The Doctor wasn't quite as vain as Ianto, and his wardrobe had certainly expanded in the last six months, but he was still inclined to wear a blue suit during business hours, and his hair was always an artfully styled mess. Today, however, he seemed to have gotten dressed with his eyes shut. He wore a jumper - one of Jack's own, if he wasn't mistaken - and jeans and his hair was completely flat, as though he hadn't done anything to it at all. He cradled a cup of tea against his chest and stared at one of the monitors, but it didn't look like he was actually doing anything.

A lot was different for this Doctor - the single heart, for one thing, and the need for six to eight consecutive hours of rest each night for another. But one thing was still true: the Doctor, motionless and without direction, was dangerous to innocent bystanders.

"Could be nothing," Ianto said after awhile.

"Could be. I'll keep an eye on him." Jack rolled his chair back towards his desk. "You have archiving to do today, don't you?"

Ianto grimaced. "Yes. I haven't had time between Rift spikes and everything's been piling up." He sighed and stole a sip of Jack's coffee. Magnanimously, and because he hadn't quite forgotten the spectacular blowjob Ianto had given him the night before, Jack allowed him to. "Hopefully things will stay quiet enough today for me to get some of it done."

Jack reached up, hooked two fingers behind the knot of Ianto's tie, and pulled him down for a kiss. "Go archive. I'll take care of the Doctor."

Ianto looked a little dubious. Jack decided not to point out that his experience in Doctor-handling far exceeded Ianto's. To be fair, much of that had been with an entirely different Doctor, and Ianto had shown a lot of latent talent in this area over the last six months.

But it seemed the archives' siren song would not be denied. Jack rolled his chair back over to the window to watch Ianto cross the Hub to the entrance to the archives, pausing to say something to the Doctor. The flutter of fingers the Doctor gave in response was almost . . . listless.

Not good. Not good at all. Jack's hands tightened on the edge of his desk as his brain immediately spat out a good baker's dozen of things that could be wrong with the Doctor. Physiological complications from being an unprecedented human-Time Lord metacrisis and/or depression at being grounded and stuck on the slow path for the remainder of his very mortal life (something Jack had been expecting to hit for months now) were only the easiest to imagine.

He wasn't the only one having these thoughts, it seemed. Ianto looked up and caught his eye. Jack nodded and made a shooing gesture towards the archives.

He gave it ten minutes, once Ianto had vanished into the depths of the Hub. Then he shoved the paperwork into more or less even stacks on his desk and bounded down the stairs. "Morning, Doctor," he said cheerfully.

The Doctor visibly attempted to straighten up and pull himself together. "Good morning." Jack leaned in for a kiss. The Doctor obliged, albeit without much enthusiasm.

Another tick in the Worry column.

Jack perched on the edge of the Doctor's desk, close enough to be distracting. "Have you looked outside today?" he asked, picking a piece of tech up off the Doctor's desk and tossing it from one hand to the other. The Doctor glanced up at the roof of the Hub, high overhead, and then gave Jack a look. "Right, well, me neither. But according to the CCTV, it's beautiful out, and it's probably the last we'll see of the sun for awhile. You want to go get breakfast someplace near the water? We can bring Ianto back a chocolate croissant to lure him out of the archives."

Jack was pretty sure it wasn't his imagination that the Doctor suddenly looked a bit pale. "No, I don't think so." The Doctor plucked the tech out of Jack's hands and set it gingerly on the desk. "Lots to do today."

"Yeah? Because I just watched you sit here for twenty minutes and do nothing." The Doctor stiffened and Jack held his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, I wasn't criticizing. I'm just surprised. You never do nothing. I didn't even know you knew how."

"I wasn't doing _nothing_ ," the Doctor said with a glare. "I was thinking. Hardly a remarkable event, though I'm not surprised you couldn't recognize it. Now, I have a great deal of work to do, and I can only hope the bloody Rift will give me time to do it. If you please." He pulled his specs out of his pocket, put them on, and leaned in to poke at the tech.

Jack knew when he was licked (and not in the fun way). He sighed and removed himself back to his office, where he called Ianto.

"Any luck?" Ianto asked.

"None. He's grouchy and defensive, and he turned down food."

"That . . . isn't good. Do you want me to come back up?"

Jack leaned back to look at the Doctor. He was still poking at the tech, but if Jack wasn't mistaken, all he was doing was removing and replacing the same component over and over. "Not yet," he said. "I don't think he'd take kindly to it. Give it a couple hours. I'll let you know if anything changes."

Jack had reams of paperwork to catch up on himself, and he actually managed to get a bit of it done over the course of the morning. He was reviewing the latest communique from their UNIT liason when he glanced up and saw the Doctor swallow once, then twice, hard enough to be noticeable. He was signing off on a stack of requisition forms when he clearly observed the Doctor lean forward to pull at his temples. And he was filling out the Weekend Rift Watch duty roster for the next three months when the Doctor pulled the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands and gave a visible shudder.

That was it. It'd been a hundred and four minutes since he'd talked to Ianto. Jack was not letting this go on any longer.

"He's sick," Jack said bluntly, the moment Ianto answered. "He's got a sore throat, headache, and chills."

"Did he tell you that?"

Jack laughed, shortly. "What do you think?"

"All right, well, it's probably just flu."

"We hope it's just flu. It could be anything. It could - oh God, Ianto, what if he doesn't have an immune system? It's a brand new body. What if he can't fight it off?" And they still didn't have a doctor, dammit. Jack knew he needed to hire one, but new people were so much work. The Doctor was normally very good at juggling both the tech and the medic positions, but that was when he wasn't the one in need of a medic.

"Jack," Ianto said in his I'm-being-patient-but-it-won't-last-forever voice. "He's been here six months. If he didn't have an immune system, we'd know it by now. It's called flu season for a reason."

"But -"

"I'm coming up. Let me handle it, all right? At least until we get him to admit he's ill."

"Fine," Jack said, reluctantly. He removed his headset and stood to crack open the door to his office, grateful for once for the the acoustics in the Hub. They made having a quickie almost impossible, since twenty-first century sexual mores randomly dictated that no one was supposed to know you were having sex while you were having it, but they were great for eavesdropping.

Ianto, it seemed, had decided to go with the stealth approach. Not that it did him much good; Jack could tell from the way the Doctor's posture went from _huddled ball of misery_ to _no really I'm fine_ that he heard Ianto approaching. Jack waited, interested to hear what Ianto would choose as his opening gambit.

Nothing, it turned out. He laid his hands on the Doctor's shoulders before running them down his spine and back up again, settling at last into a steady massage. The Doctor slumped forward over his desk, letting his head hang as Ianto worked his way in from the Doctor's shoulders, up his neck, and into his hair.

Ianto kept it up for five silent minutes. Then he wrapped his arms around the Doctor from behind, tucked his chin over the Doctor's shoulder, and said something so softly that Jack couldn't hear it after all.

He did hear the Doctor's answer. "I'm all right," he said, voice rough.

"Your glands are swollen and you're running a fever. And don't tell me you aren't," Ianto added, a bit sternly. "I just spent five minutes touching you."

The Doctor pulled away. "I don't get ill."

Ianto glanced up at Jack, who shrugged. No good way to handle that, but he thought it'd go over better coming from Ianto. Ianto straightened up and leaned against the desk, one leg on either side of the Doctor's. He reached down to take both the Doctor's hands in his. "No," he said, very gently, "you didn't get ill." He shrugged. "It's all right. It happens to the best of us. Not to Jack, though," he added with a smile. "Make of that what you will."

The Doctor didn't even crack a smile. "I feel so strange. Is this how humans feel when they're ill? I'm not in pain, except for my throat. I just feel . . ."

"Terrible," Ianto finished. He reached out and brushed the Doctor's fringe back. "Come on, let's take a trip to the medbay to rule out anything alien so Jack can stop freaking out."

The Doctor frowned. "Jack's freaking out?'

"You didn't notice him watching you like a hawk all morning?"

The Doctor cast a self-conscious glance up at Jack's office. Jack shrugged, unapologetic, and stood. No need to eavesdrop now that his cover was blown. "No," he heard the Doctor say as he jogged down the stairs. "I didn't. That's . . . not at all like me."

Ianto squeezed his shoulder. "Medbay. Let's go. The faster we do this, the faster we can have you tucked in bed."

The Doctor sighed. "All right." He stood and suddenly wobbled. Jack covered the last five feet to his side just in time to get a hand under his elbow. The Doctor tensed; Jack felt him about to draw away, unsteady though he was. But at the last second he relented, melting into Jack. Jack turned his head and kissed the Doctor's temple. It was slightly damp and much too warm. "I must admit, bed sounds remarkably pleasant right now."

***

Ianto turned the diagnostic scanner on with a flick of his thumb and waited for it to power up. Behind him, Jack murmured quietly to the Doctor. "You'd be more comfortable if you laid down."

"I'm not lying down on an autopsy table," came the exhausted reply. "You're just going to have to hold me up."

"Ten minutes," Ianto promised, turning back with the green-lit scanner in hand. "Ten minutes and we'll have you lying down somewhere comfortable."

The Doctor blinked at him slowly. Jack actually _was_ holding him up, both arms wrapped around him and the Doctor's head resting in the crook of Jack's neck. Apparently, having been talked into admitting he was ill, the Doctor had decided to embrace the experience. "What if it's alien?" the Doctor asked.

"We'll still have you in bed in ten minutes," Ianto assured him. "But I wouldn't be too worried. If it were anything other than a terrestrial strain, it'd have triggered biological lockdown by now." He paused. "Probably. Now," he added, before the Doctor could respond. "Hold still." He scanned the Doctor's body, slowly making a circuit around the table and trying not to catch Jack in the reading. Fortunately, the scanner was a fairly clever device. "Blood pressure a little low, but not dangerously so," he reported. "And your temperature . . ." Ianto gave a low whistle. "39.2. You don't do things by halves, do you, Doctor?"

"Oh God, I'm dying," the Doctor moaned, burying his face in Jack's neck.

Jack looked alarmed, and his arms tightened visibly around the Doctor. Ianto rolled his eyes. "You are not," Ianto told him briskly. "Open your mouth so I can take a sample."

The Doctor turned his face so one eye was visible and opened his mouth. Ianto swabbed his cheek and stuck the business end of it into an analyzer. It whirled for a bit before coming up with exactly the answer Ianto had expected: a local strain of influenza. Not even H1N1. He rummaged around in the cabinets until he came up with a dose of antiviral medication and a bottle of paracetamol. He made the Doctor swallow a dose of each and finish the glass of water.

They still had four minutes of the promised ten to spare.

Ianto left Jack the job of helping the Doctor out of the medbay and went ahead to the cramped living space beneath Jack's office. He awkwardly struggled down the ladder with two compresses, a bottle of paracetamol, and a portable DVD player trapped under his left arm. One of these days, he thought, he really had to start looking for a place big enough for the three of them, preferably one that didn't involve navigating a ladder while injured or ill or in a hormone-driven rush. His current building wasn't bad, and there were probably some two bedrooms available. It'd make a for a short move, at least. A house would be better, and the three of them could certainly afford one, but that might imply a message he wasn't sure any of them were ready to send or receive.

Though in all honesty, Ianto had to admit they were already pretty far into _domestic_ if he was changing sheets and pillowcases for their sick Doctor. Ianto set the extra compresses on the bedside table, and then crouched down to plug in the DVD player he kept at the Hub to compensate for the lack of any amenities whatsoever. The Doctor would be a fiendishly difficult patient no matter what, but he'd be worse with nothing to watch. Tea would be the next step, but Ianto thought he could entrust that to Jack.

He finished spreading the the duvet out and turning it down just as Jack helped the Doctor down the last few rungs of the ladder. He was flushed and unsteady, and he would have probably fallen straight into bed with his clothes still on if Ianto hadn't stopped him and insisted he strip down to his underwear.

"Disgusting," the Doctor grumbled as Ianto tugged his jumper off over his head and Jack helped him push his jeans down over his hips. "'S definitely my least favorite thing about being human. Worse 'n toenail clippings."

Ianto lifted his head and mouthed, _Toenail clippings?_ to Jack over the Doctor's shoulder. Jack shook his head in bewilderment.

"Well, the one good thing about being sick is that you get to sleep through most of it." Ianto stood back with his hands on his hips as Jack tucked the Doctor in and laid one of the cold compresses across his forehead. He stayed bent over for a moment, gently stroking the Doctor's cheek with the back of his knuckles.

The Doctor moved his head, rubbing against Jack's hand like a cat. "Yeah," he mumbled, voice rough and groggy. "Don' worry about me. Can . . . take care . . . of . . ." He went utterly limp, asleep between one word and the next.

Ianto gave Jack a small smile. "Do you think that last word was supposed to be _myself_?"

"Probably," Jack said ruefully. He straightened, let out a long breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank God. I thought we'd never get him into bed."

"Well, he was either going to go voluntarily or fall over."

"Yeah, but I thought the odds were pretty high it'd be the latter. Speaking of which," Jack added, turning to look at Ianto, "thank you."

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"Being our voice of reason." He snagged Ianto's hand and reeled him in for a kiss, which nearly took the unexpected and rather inexplicable sting out of the words. "What do you say we all take the day off? We can lie in bed and watch movies, take turns fetching tea when His Highness wakes up long enough to demand it."

That did sound rather pleasant. For a moment, Ianto was tempted. But self-preservation won out; he took a half-step back, resting one hand on Jack's chest. "Sorry, but I think I'm going to need my sick time for when I come down with the creeping crud that is no doubt incubating in my lungs even as we speak." Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Ianto was ruthless. "And as the resident voice of reason, I must point out that you, sir, have paperwork."

"Kill joy," Jack muttered.

Ianto smiled. "Would you like me to bring it down to you?"

"No," Jack said, looking mutinous. Then he sighed. "Yeah, would you?"

Ianto went and retrieved the paperwork from Jack's desk, along with a two good pens, a calculator, a little dish of paperclips, and Jack's abandoned headset. He dropped the paperwork in Jack's lap and arranged the office supplies as neatly as possible on the already somewhat overrun bedside table. "Anything else?" he asked, taking a step back.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, at least you didn't call me _sir_ this time. Are you all right?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

"I'm fine," Ianto said. It came out a bit more curt than he'd wanted. Jack raised his eyebrow again. "It's just - work has been piling up, and I probably am going to catch this, which means losing at least a day or two later this week."

Jack looked skeptical, but finally nodded. He pulled Ianto in for another kiss before letting him go. Ianto glanced back once, halfway up the ladder, to see Jack on the bed with the Doctor's head resting against his hip. Jack stroked the Doctor's hair, an expression of startling tenderness on his face. The sight did strange things to Ianto's insides, and he forced himself upwards before he changed his mind and decided to stay after all.

The archives were as they ever were - dark, cool, clean, and pleasantly free of any complicated interpersonal relationships. Not that things were complicated per se, Ianto mused as he settled in where he'd left off that morning. But it was difficult sometimes, being in a relationship this unconventional. To Jack, it didn't matter - love was love, as far as he was concerned, and he loved Ianto and the Doctor both, so he didn't see what the problem was.

And there wasn't a problem, precisely. It was just . . . Jack was Jack. He was solid, unmovable, reassuring. In short, he was exactly the sort of person you'd want taking care of you if you were half-delirious and frightened because you'd never had flu before. Ianto knew he'd been useful this morning - _voice of reason_ , indeed - but sometimes being useful just wasn't enough. It was nice to be needed, but that wasn't at all the same as being wanted.

The archives, Ianto reflected, were the perfect place to go sulk about something one had no right to be sulking about. And an even better place to _stop_. He forced his attention back to his work.

He always lost track of time in the archives. They felt like someting the Doctor had explained to him once, a _time bubble_. The archives never moved, never changed. The air down here was filtered and circulated, but it always smelled just a bit different from the rest of the Hub. It was easy for Ianto to convince himself that it was the same air that had circulated in the archives for the last hundred and fifty years.

When his mobile went off, it was a bit startling.

Jack, of course. "Yes, sir?"

"The Doctor demands hot and sour soup, so I'm ordering Chinese. You want your usual?"

Ianto's stomach growled. "Yes, please. Is he awake already?"

Jack's voice was amused. "You've been down there for six hours. Come up for air, will you? He wants soup from Dragon Village and they don't deliver."

"Why can't he -"

"I don't know. Do you want to argue with him?"

"No," Ianto said decisively. "I'll be right up." He closed the box he'd been working on, labeled it carefully with the date, and headed upstairs. A breath of fresh air while he went out for the food would be just the thing to clear his head and help him finish off the last of the work.

He found Jack in his office, shrugging into his great coat. "There you are," Jack said. "I was wondering if you'd gotten lost down there."

"It takes awhile to climb five flights of stairs. Where are you going? I thought I would get the food."

"No, you're going to keep the Doctor company while I go." Jack paused, looking suddenly hesitant. Remembering the not-argument from that morning, probably. "If that's all right with you."

Ianto decided to be blunt for once. "It's fine with me. Are you sure it's fine with him?"

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "He suggested it. I think I'm starting to get on his nerves, to be honest." He kissed Ianto. "Back in half an hour or so. Er, don't let him get to you. He can't get comfortable, and he's in exactly the mood you'd expect."

Ianto grimaced. "Lovely. Are you sure you don't want me to go?"

"Very." Jack's parting smile was entirely unapologetic.

Bastard.

***

The Doctor jabbed the Stop button on the DVD player, closed it with rather more force than was strictly necessary, and shoved it away to languish amidst the rumpled bedcovers. Stupid, fragile human body, with its stupid, fragile immune system that couldn't even stop a simple virus. It was humiliating. He felt a little less like he was just about to die than he had that morning, but he was so weak he could barely sit up on his own. He couldn't even read; he'd tried - against Jack's advice - and got a splitting headache for his efforts.

He rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head. Jack had been so _fussy_. He appreciated that he'd stayed - really, he did - but every time he'd woken, it'd been, _How are you feeling? Do you need anything? What can I get you?_ After the third or fourth time, the Doctor had wanted to hit him.

The bed dipped and the Doctor felt a light touch on his shoulder. He peered out from beneath his pillow and caught a glimpse of dark, expensive fabric. "Oh, thank God it's you," the Doctor said, pushing the pillow off altogether to look up at Ianto. Calm, sensible Ianto, who knew how to take care of him without _fussing_.

Ianto blinked. "Sorry?"

"Jack's driving me mad. Where have you been?" He tried not to make it into an accusation, but he didn't think he quite avoided sounding sulky.

"The archives. I'm sorry," Ianto added, looking a little upset, "I didn't think you'd want us both hovering."

"You don't hover. Not like Jack." The Doctor looked away, picking at the fuzz on his blanket. "Sorry. I know you had work to do, and Jack was brilliant, really. It's just that sometimes . . ."

"He can be a bit much?" Ianto suggested.

The Doctor nodded, closing his eyes. His head ached. "He takes up so much space. Usually it's fine. Today . . . I'm just so tired."

Ianto didn't reply, much to the Doctor's relief. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand stroking the inside of the Doctor's knee through the blankets. Then he stood. The Doctor listened anxiously for the sound of Ianto climbing the ladder, but he went into the bathroom instead. There was the sound of running water, and then light footsteps back to the bed. At the touch of something cool on his forehead, the Doctor opened his eyes. Ianto had a folded up flannel in hand, along with a white pill bottle.

"Paracetamol," Ianto said, handing him two pills. He helped the Doctor sit up to swallow them down with a tall glass of water. "There. You'll feel better once they kick in."

"Thanks," the Doctor said, sliding back down into the warm pocket of blankets. The chills had subsided at last, but they came back if he stuck so much as an arm or a foot out. The flannel felt good, wiping away dried sweat from his face and neck. The Doctor let himself relax and enjoy the attention, which demanded nothing of him. Ianto, the Doctor decided all over again, was _lovely._

"You don't really want hot and sour soup from Dragon Village," Ianto said at last, very quietly.

The Doctor opened his eyes and smiled weakly. "Not really, no."

"I didn't . . . I'm sorry, Doctor, I didn't think you'd -" Ianto stopped.

The Doctor frowned. "What?"

"I thought you'd want Jack." Ianto drew back, flannel and all, and clasped his hands in his lap.

It was moments like these when the Doctor remembered how very young Ianto Jones was. It was easy to forget; so much had happened to him, and he carried himself like someone much older. The Doctor reached out and took Ianto's hand, twining their fingers together. "I do want Jack. Why does that mean I don't want you, too?" Ianto didn't respond. The Doctor let it sink in for a moment before deciding to change tacks altogether. He tugged at Ianto's hand. "Read to me? I can't seem to manage it without giving myself a headache."

Ianto hesitated. "All right," he said at last. "But only if it's not one of your physics journals."

The Doctor sighed. "Don't think I'm up for that myself. No, I was rereading some Dickens last night before bed. I think it ended up on the floor."

"I see it." Ianto bent and retrieved the book from under the bed. He stood and loosened his tie before pulling it off completely. Then he paused and looked to the Doctor.

"Won't be very comfortable for either of us, if you insist on keeping all your clothes on," the Doctor said, very casually.

"Now you sound like Jack." But Ianto was smiling as he stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. "You do realize," he said, as he crawled under the covers and settled himself in the middle of the bed, "that I'm going to get ill just as you start feeling better."

The Doctor tucked himself close, head on Ianto's shoulder. "Too late to avoid exposure. But I'll read to you, whatever you want."

Ianto kissed the Doctor's forehead. "I suppose that's fair." He opened the book and cleared his throat. "'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair . . .'"

Perhaps being ill was not all bad if it meant falling asleep to the delicious combination of Charles's prose and Ianto's lovely round Welsh vowels. The Doctor was dozing - an activity in which Time Lords never engaged, but for which he'd developed a fondness - by the time Jack returned. He registered dimly the sound of Jack clambering down the ladder and skipping the last three rungs, followed less dimly by Ianto shushing him.

"All that and he's asleep," Jack said with a quiet sigh. The Doctor suppressed a smile. "Figures."

"He needs it," Ianto said, stroking a hand through the Doctor's hair. The Doctor snuggled closer, hoping to discourage Ianto from leaving him for sesame chicken and moo shoo gai pan.

"You look very cozy there."

"Mmm. Care to join us? We can heat the food up later."

"What do you think?" Clothing rustled, the bed dipped, and the Doctor felt Ianto lean away briefly - for a kiss, by the sound of it. Jack's hand ghosted over the top of the Doctor's head. "So you decided to take rest of the day off after all."

"The Doctor was very persuasive."

"Really? That is not how I would've described him when I left."

It was only with the greatest effort that the Doctor managed not to give himself away by kicking Jack. "Well," Ianto said, and the Doctor could hear the smile in his voice, "you have to have the right touch."

"The right _touch_ , eh?"

"Quite. And it doesn't hurt to have a Welsh accent."

"Ah, yes. A weakness the Doctor and I share." The mattress jostled. The Doctor slitted one eye open, just enough to peek through his lashes and watch Jack getting comfortable, wriggling around until his head was bedded on Ianto's opposite shoulder. "You may continue now," he said imperiously, once he was done.

"Thank you, _sir_." But despite the slight edge to Ianto's tone, he picked the book up where he'd left off. The Doctor found himself echoing Jack's small sigh of contentment. This was what he'd wished for all morning.

It was just possible being ill came in ahead of toenail clippings after all.

 _Fin._


End file.
